


Troubled Souls

by Lady_Kit



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Miscarriage, Misgendering, Past Relationship(s), Pregnancy, Skeleton Pregnancy (Undertale), not pregnancy-positive, pregnancy as horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-27 22:00:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16710832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Kit/pseuds/Lady_Kit
Summary: Asgore always wanted children, and Rus (Swap Papyrus) has always wanted to please his boyfriend.He wants this. Really. He wants this. He does. Hedoes





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of my "Preg Horror" series I posted throughout the month of October over on my Tumblr [itsladykit.tumblr.com](https://itsladykit.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Over there, it was broken up into 15 pieces. Here, I'm going to break it up into two, to be posted all at once. (If you only see one, reload in a little bit.)

**1 year prior**

The kid’s fingers flashed rapidly, their version of excited babble. Rus nodded along, even when he couldn’t quite catch what Frisk was saying. They grabbed their backpack and shoved it toward him, showing him the cartoon characters emblazoned on the front.

“yeah, that’s real cool, bud. you shown blue yet?”

Still beaming, Frisk shook their head, signing that they’d be visiting Blue later today. Rus nodded and asked them about their school and their teachers. They were happy to talk with him, and he watched their fingers as they spoke, struggling to keep up with their rapid dialogue.

Asgore joined them when the tea was ready, and he smiled warmly, laughing as Frisk and Rus stirred an unhealthy amount of honey and cream into their cups. He leaned forward and took over the conversation, asking Frisk about books and movies and their friends at school. Rus leaned back in his chair, happy to let him steer the conversation. He loved Frisk—what monster didn’t?—but…talking to them could be exhausting at times. And, while he wanted to be encouraging, feigning interest in their activities wore at him. He was happy for the visit, happy to see them doing well, but he’d be just as happy to see them leave.

Asgore, on the other hand, visibly deflated when Frisk was gone. Rus scooted his chair over, so they could sit close. He elbowed him lightly. “why the long face, love? you’re a goat monster, not a horse monster last time i checked.”

He chuckled and draped a huge arm over his shoulders, pulling him close and tucking him into his side. Rus sighed, sockets closing as he burrowed into the warmth and safety of his lover’s embrace. For a few minutes, Asgore simply held him. Then, pulling back, he said, “Darling….” Rus peered up at him curiously; that nickname only came out when Asgore wanted something. “…have you ever thought about kids?”

He blinked. “you mean like…baby goats?”

Asgore laughed, then nuzzled the top of his skull. “I suppose I do, in a way. But I also mean little skeletons—uh…babybones?” Rus nodded absently, affirming the term, but Asgore’s smile widened. “So you have thought about it?”

His mouth popped open, then clicked closed. “i…a little?”

“You’re so good with Frisk. You’d be an excellent parent.”

Rus shook his head, and started to pull away, but Asgore held him in place. “no,” he said, “i’m just…i’m being nice. that’s all. i’m really not very good with….” He gestured loosely, fidgeting. “…all that.”

Asgore took hold of his chin and turned him back to face him. “You are, though. You’re so caring and loving. Of course you’d be a good parent!”

Rus rubbed the back of his neck, not wholly willing to disagree. “i mean….” He cleared his throat and turned back to Asgore. “what about you? after asriel and chara…?”

His face crumpled, and Papyrus immediately regretted asking, but Asgore just petted the top of his skull and buried his face in Rus’ hoodie. “I always wanted kids. Even when I was little more than a kid myself. What happened was…devastating. I’ll never….” He exhaled hard, squeezing Rus. Rus squeezed back, trying to comfort his lover. “I’ll never fully recover from that loss. But…life keeps going, doesn’t it? In the Ruins, it felt like I was just…waiting. Not…not living. I’d like…I think I’m ready to start living again. Specifically, to start making a life with…well, with you.”

Reaching into a pocket, he pulled out a small box. Inside was a silver key. “I was hoping you might feel the same way.”

“this is a key to your house?”

“Our house. If-if you want it, that is.”

“i—“ Rus looked at the key, looked at Asgore, at the monster he’d visited daily since the machine broke down, the monster that had comforted him when he lost contact with his previous lover, the monster he grew day by day and pun by pun to love—long before they ever laid eyes on each other. The question was unexpected, but he found himself imagining a life with the former king.

Evenings spent by the fire, talking and laughing and trading stupid jokes.

Flowers overflowing the garden.

The scent of cinnamon and butterscotch heavy on the air.

A life of warmth and laughter. Easy. Peaceful.

He said “yes” without even thinking about it.

Beaming, Asgore swept him up, into his arms and held him tight, rocking him slightly. “Oh, Rus!” he said, getting teary-eyed, “I’m just—I’m so happy! And relieved! I was afraid you might not feel the same way.”

Chuckling, Rus kissed him, still thrilled by the strange sensation of lips moving against his teeth. “you big, fluffy goof,” he said teasingly, “of course i love you. how could i not?”

Asgore sighed contentedly and nuzzled him, and Rus closed his sockets and sighed, sinking into the warmth of his embrace.

 

**9 months prior**

“You’re still unpacking?” Asgore asked, laughing as Rus dug through a box of books.

“not unpacking!” he protested, face buried in the box. “searching. i know i brought my book of knock knock jokes. i just gotta find it…somewhere.” Asgore shook his head and took a sip of tea before he set both cup and saucer down. Then he scooped Rus up in one arm and the box in the other. “uh…babe? where’re we going?”

“This is your home now,” Asgore said patiently, shouldering open the spare room’s door, “You shouldn’t be living out of boxes.”

“are you judging me right now? because i’m not the one with a whole cupboard full of half-empty tea boxes. how much tea do—“ Asgore set him down and brushed him off. “—you really need, anyway?”

Smiling placidly, he kissed the top of his head and replied, “I like the variety. Now, look—we can easily make room on these shelves for your books.”

With a put-upon sigh—and a few good-natured complaints—Rus went about shelving his boxed books. Asgore helped at first, but over time, he slowed and stopped, gazing around the room distractedly. “what?”

“Just…thinking.”

“yeah?” he asked absently, studying the book in his hands. It looked like he’d accidentally stolen it from the Librarby. Well. Whoops. “about what?” He studied the shelves and tucked the book in between two larger volumes, hoping it would go unnoticed.

“This room will make a good nursery.” Rus froze, nearly fumbling the book. Asgore came up behind him and caught it, one huge paw resting on Rus’ lumbar spine. “Don’t you think so?”

“i-i never….” He looked around at the room—at the clutter of bookshelves, the overflowing desk, the dusty futon. He didn’t see why it would be a good nursery. Or, for that matter, a bad one. “i mean. if you say so?”

Rumbling in quiet pleasure, the sound not quite a purr, Asgore nuzzled against his neck, both hands on Rus’ shoulders. “There are good schools nearby, too.” He blushed a little, seeing Rus’ face. “I’m sorry, darling. I don’t mean to rush you. It’s just…I’ve spent ages living in an empty house, it seems. It’s very…quiet.”

“…we could…get a dog, maybe?”

Asgore laughed and scrubbed the top of his skull. “It might seem sudden, but I know you’d be a wonderful parent. Promise me you’ll think about it?”

Rus swallowed. “yeah. sure. i’ll…i’ll think about it.”

Asgore kissed him gently, and Rus tried to take comfort in the warmth and safety of his arms, but his soul was uneasy and unsteady.

 

**4 months prior**

“You’re sure about this?”

Rus swallowed hard, but forced a smile. “yeah. i, uh, i thought about it…and i want—“  _ ~~to please you to make you happy to make sure you won’t leave~~_ “—to-to uh…” His features burned, magic flooding his cheekbones.

Asgore smiled warmly and pet his skull, thumbing his cheekbones. “Have a baby? A kid or a babybones of our own?”

His mouth felt dryer than bone. “yeah,” he agreed, “that.”

“Really?” Asgore asked, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “You really mean it? Having children is a blessing. A gift. I would love to share that with you, but I want to know that you’re sure.”

Rus looked up at him. He was sure of many, many things. He was sure of his love for Asgore. Sure, too, that he didn’t want to be alone. Blue had moved in with Napstatton, and Muffet had moved out to the desert with her spiders. Alphys and Undyne’s first clutch was incubating. And Edge….

Well. Everyone was moving on, moving forward—soul-bonding or having kids or starting jobs far away. Rus didn’t want to be left behind. He was sure of that, and he was sure he’d come to love any kid or babybones they had. That’s how it worked, right? Monsters were made of love—they couldn’t not love their own children. Rus was the same. Even if he was unsure now, he’d come to love their child.

And Asgore wanted kids. Wanted them more than anything—more than he wanted Rus, certainly. So he looked up at him and nodded. “i’m sure.”

Rumbling in contentment, Asgore pulled him in close and nuzzled against his neck. “Why don’t we get started now, then?”

Rus’ jaw went tight and tense, but he raised his chin to give him access. He tangled his fingers in Asgore’s fur, clutching at him. His soul pulsed wildly as Asgore kissed down the column of his neck.

_I want this,_  he told himself, gasping when Asgore lifted him up and pressed him into the wall.

_I want this._

_I want—_

Asgore purred against his acoustic meatus, “You’re going to be such a wonderful mother.”

—his soul seized and stuttered, and his fingers tightened in Asgore’s mane. “i—“ But Asgore didn’t pause, just nuzzled his mandible. Rus swallowed down the protest. It was fine. He’d be carrying the kid, after all. It made a weird sort of sense, even if it did make his soul twist uncomfortably. He tilted his head back and shut his sockets, trying to relax and focus on the sensations.

And trying to convince his unsteady soul that he wanted this, wanted a child, wanted to get pregnant.

_I want this._

 

**Day**   **One**

Rus took a deep breath and stood in front of the mirror. His magic felt…off, this morning. Like something was sapping his energy. He knew what he thought it was. Knew what he hoped— ~~yes, yes he wanted this he wanted a child he did he really did~~ —it was. But he’d managed to convince himself of that at least twice before.

So he stood in front of the mirror now, hesitating.

He played with the hem of the shirt he’d worn to bed last night, trying to convince himself to pull it up. If he wasn’t, then they’d keep trying, as they had been, but if he was—his soul clenched suddenly, rolling with a wave of nervous nausea that he studiously ignored—then they’d…they’d….

Rather than lift the hem, he pulled the fabric taut against his body, expecting the fabric to fall into the hollow between his ribs and pelvis. Instead, it pressed against a soft swell of magic, ectoflesh glimmering faintly through the thin fabric. Ice prickled through his mana lines, and for a moment, everything slowed down. Magic pulsed in his skull, loud enough to drown out everything. Numb, he raised the hem of his shirt and stared at the orange ectoflesh. He placed a skeletal hand on it. Just to be sure it was real. It was warm to the touch.

Barely breathing, he tried to dispel the magic, but it resisted him, a soft ping of pain dissuading him from trying harder. His knees went weak and his legs folded under him. He felt dizzy. Nauseous. Some crazy part of his mind piped up, suggesting it was just the soulling sapping his energy. The suggestion made him want to giggle, and he bit down on a phalange to silence himself.

He knew it wasn’t the baby. It was shock. It was ~~shock and fear~~ _joy_  and  _relief_  and a confusing bundle of emotions he couldn’t even begin to untangle. They’d only been trying for a few months, but he’d been somehow convinced that it just wasn’t going happen. Somehow told himself that it wouldn’t happen.

The reality of it was so shocking, so sudden. It felt like a pallet of bricks had been dropped on him. Like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

He needed a cigarette.

Even as his fingers closed over his lighter, though, he remembered. No drinking. No smoking. No teleportation.

He swallowed hard and released the lighter. For several minutes, he just sat there. Staring into nothing. Then he realized—he’d have to tell Asgore.

How the fuck was he going to tell Asgore?

 

**Day Three**

Three days. He’d known he was…. For three days. And he still hadn’t been able to tell Asgore.

He’d always thought he’d be the kind of guy to get creative when it was time to tell his lover they were pregnant ~~—“they”? they weren’t fucking pregnant, he was pregnant; Asgore wouldn’t have to deal with weight gain and mood swings and magic flux and~~ —that  _he_  was pregnant. He even had a few plans sketched out. Now, though….

He swallowed and put a tentative hand on his stomach, the warmth of his magic radiating through the fabric of his hoodie. A hollow pit opened in his soul, and he closed his hand into a tight fist. His soul clenched again, and he exhaled hard, realizing he’d been holding his breath this whole time.

“right,” he said. “no use putting it off.” He looked down at his stomach, at his hand resting on the soft ectoflesh. “let’s do this then.” He still felt nauseous, and decided to blame it on the soulling, even if monster pregnancies didn’t actually work like that.

Asgore was, as expected, out in the garden. Rus plopped down on the grass and looked up at the clouds, watching them pass. Asgore smiled at him and continued to tend his flowers. Buttercups, of course. Because even on the surface, Asgore still liked torturing himself. “Hello, dear,” he said, “How are you this morning?”

Nervous laughter bubbled up, but he put it down fast. “oh. you know. fine. didn’t sleep much last night—“

“You never do.”

“—and i was starving this morning—“

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

“—and i’ve been itching for a smoke.”

Asgore faltered, his pleasant non-answer slipping away. “It’s a dreadful habit, and I don’t want to encourage it, but if you want a cigarette so badly, why don’t you have one?”

Rus swallowed. His throat felt constricted. His soul was hot and tight and he wasn’t sure how to force the words out. “‘s b-bad for the-the—“ He gasped, shocked to hear himself start sobbing. He’d intended to keep his response blithe and casual. Instead, he’d turned into a blubbering mess, and now Asgore was standing, concern in his big eyes. Swallowing hard, Rus lifted his shirt before Asgore could ask what was wrong with him.

Asgore stared. “Is that—?” Rus nodded, hiccuping. “So, you’re—?” He nodded again. Smiling broadly, Asgore swept forward, lifting him up off his feet and into his arms. His muzzle pressed into Rus cheekbone, and he nuzzled his small mate.

Rus clung to him, pressing his face into Asgore’s shoulder. His body shook as he sobbed, not able to reign himself in. Asgore ran a huge paw up and down his spine, chuckling lightly. “Oh, dear. Seems like the hormones are already kicking in. It’s okay, darling. It’s okay. I’m here.”

 

**Day 24**

It was impossible to forget he was pregnant. The knowledge was ever-present. Hanging over him like a damn sword.

Cigarette craving? Can’t smoke—pregnant.

Need to get somewhere fast? Can’t take a shortcut—pregnant.

Want breakfast? Don’t forget the fucking prenatal vitamins!

Horny? Not after he caught sight of the orange magic in his pelvic cavity.

Even just standing up or sitting down or trying to sleep, he was perpetually aware of the added weight in his middle. He was constantly reminded of his condition—and…constantly reminded that he was supposed to be happy about it. Asgore always pressed a hand to his stomach when he kissed him or held him from behind. Once, he even lifted Rus’ nightshirt and kissed his belly before Rus could stop him—all the while wearing a pleased expression, like he was the happiest man in the world. And…he expected Rus to be just as happy.

Even when some of his favorite foods seemed suddenly repulsive.

Even when the cigarette cravings had him climbing the wall.

Even when he found himself sitting on the bedroom floor, alone and biting his fingers to keep from crying, he was supposed to be happy. And if he wasn’t happy? Well. That was just hormones, right?

He didn’t really feel like the room was closing in on him.

Didn’t really feel like his body no longer belonged to him.

Didn’t actually hate the speck of light, the tiny soul, growing inside him.

How could he? It was their child. A child they’d been trying for, yearning for. A child Asgore and  _everyone_  had insisted he would love and want and cherish, no matter how often Rus expressed his concerns.

No. Those feelings of rising panic and fear weren’t real. They weren’t real. They were hormones and nothing more.

He curled in on himself and dug his phone out of his pocket. They hadn’t told anyone yet—they’d decided to wait because it was possible the souling might not survive past the first trimester. But Rus needed to talk to someone now. His fingers stalled when he realized he was dialing Edge’s number. He took a breath and redialed.

Blue picked up on the second ring.

 

**Day 25**

They met at the coffee shop. Rus wore an extra baggy hoodie, somehow afraid that Blue would be able to see before he was ready to say. They settled at a table outside on a small, sheltered patio out back. Rus stirred his decaf honey lavender latte—ignoring his niggling annoyance at the lack of caffeine—and tried to find the right words. When he did manage to speak, though, he asked after Blue’s new job and his classes.

Nearly wiggling in his seat, Blue was happy to prattle on about his work and school life, ecstatic to start a new semester and equally pleased to be working with Blackberry in the local bakery. It was easy enough to nod along and to smile, no matter how hollow the expression felt. He thought he’d been doing a good job of feigning interest, until Blue asked, “So? What’s wrong?”

Rus faltered, briefly floundering for his cigarettes before he remembered, again, that he was pregnant. “wrong?” he asked, “why do you think…?” Blue raised a brow-bone, and Rus sighed. Yeah. It was probably pretty obvious. He took a deep breath, and—unable to find the words—took his brother’s hand and pressed it to his abdomen.

Confusion flickered over Blue’s face, followed swiftly by shock. “Papy? Are you…? Having a baby?”

Still speechless, he nodded. He swallowed hard, trying to find the words. He needed to talk to someone, and surely his brother would be able to understand his fears. “yeah,” he finally said, “it’s, uh, still early. too early to be sure of—“

But Blue caught him up around the middle, yelling in unbridled joy. “Papy! I’m so—I’m so proud of you! And surprised! You’ve never really seemed that interested in kids—“

“yeah, i’m—“

“—but I just know you’re going to be an amazing parent! The best! Wait. Oh my stars.” Blue paused, holding both hands to his mouth. His sockets watered, blue magic welling. “I’m—“ His breath hitched. “I’m going to be an _uncle_.”

Blue continued his excited babble, talking so loudly they were starting to draw looks from the nearby tables. Rus would have been embarrassed as it was, but several of the other patrons gave him knowing looks. One old woman leaned over and patted his arm. “Is this your first?” she asked. Too stunned to speak, he simply nodded. She smiled knowingly and patted his arm more firmly. “First of many,” she said confidently, “You’ve got that look about you.”

It felt like swallowing a stone. He wanted to run, wanted to scream, to argue, to leave. All he managed to do was make an undignified sound and reach for his coffee—only for Blue to snatch it up.

“No, no! Papy! No caffeine for you—“

“it’s. but it’s decaf—“ He floundered, but Blue wasn’t listening either.

“No sugar, either! Healthy foods only! Oh my goodness, I can’t believe you’re going to be a parent! This is so wonderful! Here, I’ll go get some nice herbal tea for you.” With that, he bounced away, vibrating with happy energy.

Rus just sat back in his chair, feeling the heat of the magic in his abdominal cavity. He swallowed hard and wished he could still smoke.

 

**Day 29**

It was obvious Blue couldn’t keep the good news to himself. Blackberry came by the next day, dropping off a bundle of freshly baked muffins—sugar free, apparently—and a small cake as a treat. Their secret, he said with a wink.

At least Blackberry understood his sugar cravings.

Then Papyrus paid them a visit, smiling broadly and fidgeting as if he couldn’t contain himself. Finally, Asgore took pity on him and shared the good news, and Papyrus was free to squeal and celebrate. Asgore smiled fondly at him and slung an arm over Rus’ shoulder, squeezing. After that, the secret wasn’t much of a secret anymore. Sans, Red, and Slim dropped by to congratulate him. There was some teasing about changing diapers and getting childcare, but otherwise, they seemed just as thrilled as the others. Twist dragged Cash over, happily gifting him an enthusiastically—if somewhat poorly—knitted baby blanket. Cash surprised them both by giving him a file folder, recommending where to open a college fund and listing the stats of various hospitals and midwives.

It was. Nice. Really, it was. It was even a little funny when he came back to the house to find the tentatively decorated “nursery” had been filled with bags of diapers. (While monster children did not have the same biological functions that human children did, magical discharge was very common for the first couple years). They were happy for him, and they all meant well. He knew that. And he was grateful. He  _was_. But….

He managed to keep it together. Managed to hold it all in until Edge called. His voice was tinny and distant. “Rus?” he asked, and Rus clutched the phone to his skull.

“ye—“ His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “yeah? that you, edgelord?”

“Yes. I heard that you and Asgore are….” He coughed, and Rus smiled a little, imagining him shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. “I suppose…congratulations are in order?” It was a question. There was a note of uncertainty in his voice, and Rus found himself clutching the phone even tighter, tears gathering in his sockets.

“yeah,” he said, “looks like it.” It’s what you were supposed to say, wasn’t it? When a couple got pregnant. This was supposed to be a happy time for them. Rus was supposed to be ecstatic.

“Well, then. I’m…happy for you,” he finally said, but Rus could hear the slight strain in his voice.

Was he…disappointed? Had he thought, perhaps, that there was still a chance for them?

“thanks,” Rus said, trying to keep his voice steady.

“When are you due?”

“probably around 8 months or so?”

Edge snorted, and Rus could imagine his wry smile tugging at his mouth. “Well. If you ever need help with anything….”

Rus chuckled. “what? you’ll drop everything and come racing over here? thanks, edgelord, but i think i’ve got it handled.”

Edge didn’t say anything for a while. “You know I’m always here for you,” he finally said. “Even if we aren’t…we still….” He cleared his throat. “If you need me,” he reiterated, “I’m here.”

Tears coursed down Rus’ face, and he scrubbed at his cheeks, brushing them away. “yeah,” he said, voice thick. “thanks. you’re—“ He took a shuddering breath. “i gotta go. but it’s…it’s been good. talking to you.”

He hung up before Edge could say more, pressing a hand to his mouth to hold back his sobs.

Whatever Edge said, he couldn’t talk to him. Not about this. Never about this. It would be too much like a betrayal.

The machine had broken down years ago, resisting all his frantic attempts at repairing it. It cut them off completely. Rus had lost all hope of seeing his lover or the others again. At times, he’d even convinced himself that the others—his time with Edge—had been nothing but a strange dream.

And the man behind the door had been so kind.

It was only after they’d been on the surface for years that the machine started working again. Underswap was the only universe that made it to the surface. Undertale was mostly untouched, but emptied of hope after the last human fell and left without breaking the barrier. Swapfell was in chaos as their Asgore tried to reclaim his throne after centuries in the Ruins. The less said about both Twist-verses, the better.

And Edge was the only monster of any authority left in Underfell.

Rus wondered, sometimes, if he would have stayed in Underfell if they were still together. Or if he’d have abandoned his new subjects to make a life with Rus.

No. He couldn’t talk about this with Edge. He loved Asgore, and his history with Edge was still too fresh, too raw. It would have been like betraying Asgore, and…maybe giving Edge the wrong impression. He swallowed hard and forced the tears back with a shudder.

It was nothing, anyway. He was fine.

Nothing but hormones.

 

**Week 5**

“it’s, uh, it’s a little early for baby names, isn’t it?”

Asgore smiled fondly, kissing the top of his head and pulling him in close. “Perhaps. But it’s such a delightful human tradition! I wanted to give it a try.”

Rus elbowed him teasingly. “what? you don’t wanna name the little nugget ‘papgore’? or maybe ‘asgyrus’?”

Asgore made a face. “I never was fond of that tradition. How do skeleton monsters name their children?”

“font.”

Asgore blinked. “…I see.”

Rus snickered, then patted his arm and said, “i’m kidding. sans and i picked our own names, and that’s what we used to figure it out. skeletons are pretty thin on the ground, though. if they used to have traditions like that, i don’t know what they would have been.”

His hand slipped down to Rus’ belly. “We can start our own traditions, then.”

Rus’ amusement faded suddenly, like a candle snuffed out in the wind. “yeah,” he said, straining to keep smiling. He laid his hand overtop Asgore’s, even though he wanted to squirm away. “guess we can.”

Asgore kissed him again. “May I…?”

“hmm? oh—you want?” His throat tight, Rus swallowed and nodded. “s-sure,” he said. Asgore’s smile was warm and so very pleased. For a moment, Rus soul skipped, and he remembered vividly what it was like first meeting the man that the booming voice from behind the door belonged to. He felt so small and so safe in Asgore’s arms. For the first time in what had been years at that point, he’d felt loved.

So he didn’t resist as Asgore peeled his hoodie off, revealing his ectobody, formed from pubic bone to clavicle. The black tank top he wore did very little to cover him—less when Asgore pushed it up so he could see his belly.

He cupped one of Rus’ breasts, tweaking the nipple playfully. Rus jumped and gripped his wrist, surprised at the shock of pain that ran through the tender ectoflesh. Asgore didn’t notice. “We’ll have to get you a bra, darling.”

Rus swallowed. He’d been trying to forget about his budding breasts, honestly. He’d never been comfortable summoning them on his own power and disliked them even more now that he couldn’t dismiss them. They were heavy and cumbersome. They got in the way—and they hurt too. A deep ache had set in, worsened whenever he put any kind of pressure on them.

“yeah,” he said, realizing that he’d be stuck with them for the foreseeable future. Even after the kid was born, he’d need them to breastfeed—

His hands clenched. He hadn’t thought about that. A wave of revulsion suddenly rolled through him, the idea repugnant in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

But his mind was drawn back to the present before he could dwell on that. Asgore framed his stomach with both hands—still flat, but for the soft layer of pudge he’d always had. It was still intensely uncomfortable. Lying there while Asgore stared at his bare stomach like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Rus wished he felt the same way.

“You’re perfect,” he said, and Rus shifted uncomfortably.

“uh-huh. yep. that’s me. mister—“ His mind skittered over the weight of his breasts, the fact of his pregnancy, unable to reconcile the state of his body and his gender. “—perfect.” Unwanted, tears gathered in his sockets, and he pushed them away.

“Darling?”

“don’t—“ He swallowed. “don’t worry. hormones, you know?”

Asgore kissed him. “I do.” He nuzzled into him, and it was almost like old times. It almost felt good…but his paw lingered on Rus stomach, and it consumed his whole attention.

 

**Week 7**

Rus frowned, adjusting his pants. Again. They just weren’t sitting right. Even if they were fine while he was standing, they’d start to pinch as soon as he sat down.

Asgore, sitting beside him, chuckled a little. “It might be time to go shopping.”

“for what? we out of milk?” He’d been drinking the stuff by the gallon lately.

“No, love. I just bought some this morning, but—“ He smiled. “—you’re starting to show. We should get you some clothing that fits a bit more comfortably.”

Rus froze. He hadn’t thought about that. Or, rather, he’d been actively avoiding thinking about that. “yeah,” he said, voice soft. “i guess so.” Asgore’s smile grew a little wider, but he didn’t say anything. Rus frowned, pulling away from him. “what is it?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“you’re smiling at something. what is it?”

“Nothing, dear. Nothing.” Rus was not impressed with this answer—especially when Asgore pursed his lips to stifle a grin. He pulled away and crossed his arms, ignoring the way his pants seemed to tighten around his waist. He stared straight ahead, pushing Asgore’s hand off when he reached for him. “Darling—“ Rus silenced him with a glare, hoping he could feel his sins crawling on his back. Asgore sighed and scooted closer, trying to nuzzle against his jaw. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It’s just…”

Rus eyed him. “just what?”

Asgore’s smile reappeared. Like he couldn’t quite control it. “It’s cute.  _You’re_  cute. So worried about your figure.” He chuckled indulgently, running his knuckles over the back of his neck. “But you’ll always be beautiful to me.”

Something inside of him snapped. Before he could even think about it, before he could stop himself, he was screaming, “YOU THINK THIS IS ABOUT MY FIGURE? YOU THINK I GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THAT?” He was standing now, looking down at Asgore, who stared up at him with wide, frightened eyes. “this is about everything!” he snapped, “it’s about no one taking me seriously! and no one listening to me! it’s about my body just—doing things! and everyone acting like it’s so delightful, like i’m supposed to be happy about it—and then blaming it on hormones whenever i get upset about  _anything_!”

He was breathing hard now, and tears gathered in his sockets. He brushed them away with his palm, throat tight. “you’re probably doing it right now. thinking this is all about hormones.” His chest hitched and he started to sob. “i never wanted this,” he said, starting to shake. “i  _never_  wanted this. it’s miserable and i hate it and it’s only going to g-get worse. i don’t want this. i don’t  _want_ this.”

Asgore reached for him. “Oh, darling. I’m—I had no idea you felt that way. Come here. Come sit down.” But Rus shook his head, backing away. He could hear the condescension in Asgore’s voice. The surety that Rus was just hormonal, that he’d be fine after some cuddling and a foot-rub. He still wasn’t listening. He still didn’t understand.

Swallowing hard, Rus teleported away, not thinking about his destination—or the scientists’ suggestion that he refrain while he was pregnant. The teleport used up more magic than he’d thought it would. He sagged against the wall, suddenly tired and drained. He pressed his forehead into the plaster, shivering at the unexpected chill. He opened his sockets and had to suppress a moment of deja vu.

He was Underground. In Snowdin. The machine was before him. Everything else was covered in dust, but the machine was still pristine, regularly maintained by Red. Slowly, he slid down the wall, burying his head in his hands.

He was still crying, and if he let himself, he’d start sobbing in an instant. As if to add insult to injury, his waistband began cutting into his stomach again. He pushed it down, crying out in frustration.

Anger coiled within him, making his soul burn. He didn’t want this. He never wanted this. He just wanted to make Asgore happy…. He’d thought, maybe….

He bowed his head and scraped his fingers over his skull. How long had it been? 7 weeks? He still had months and months to go. This was barely the beginning. How soon before people were touching his belly and cooing over him, like they had any right? And how long before they stopped dismissing any sign of unhappiness as hormones?

He already hated what the pregnancy had done to his body. Hated the weight of his developing breasts, the press of his belly against his waistband. Hated feeling so feminine and trapped in a body that no longer felt like it belonged to him.

And the soulling itself?

Every time he tried to think of the future, tried to think of the babybones, the kid, the child, his soul seemed to open onto a deep pit of dread. He…didn’t want this. None of it. He didn’t want to be pregnant, and he didn’t want the kid either. Not now. Not ever.

With a pop, his ectobody ruptured, and spent magic began to pour over his legs and pelvis.


	2. Chapter 2

Rus stared at the spent magic clotting his clothing. He lifted his hoodie and stared at his abdominal cavity—a cavity once more. No ectobody. No soulling.

A relieved sob rocked him. He covered his mouth, his soul at ease for the first time in what felt like ages. Only for guilt to crash over him an instant later.

Asgore would hate him for this. And Blue would be so disappointed in him. Everyone would ask what had happened. What could he even tell them? He could blame the ill-advised teleport, but he knew the truth. His soul had rejected the soulling. A monster’s soul was made of love. Starved of that, the soulling never could have made it to term.

He curled into a ball, grimacing at the slick, sticky magic drying on his bones. He was awful. He was an awful, hateful person. What kind of monster couldn’t manage to muster up enough affection to bring a soulling to term? Even Gaster had managed that, though he’d had to rely on some artificial help.

He pressed his face to his knees, more tears sliding down his cheekbones. The sardonic observation that at least no one could blame this outburst on hormones did nothing to help his feelings of guilt and shame. He didn’t want to move from that spot. Didn’t want to face his boyfriend, his family, his friends. He wished, silently, that he could simply turn to stone or sink into the floor. Vanish entirely.

His phone rang.

He pressed his hands over his earholes, blocking it out. “go away,” he whispered, rocking slightly. The phone stopped ringing, but started up again almost immediately. Without looking at the screen, he turned it off and put his head down once more. He didn’t move for what felt like hours, feeling a deep relief and a boundless sense of shame for it.

Despite his desires, he wasn’t made of stone, and he knew he’d have to face his family eventually. Forcing himself to uncurl, he was hit with a wave of vertigo that reminded him of all the magic he’d lost—first to the teleport and then in the miscarriage.

An insidious inner voice whispered that it was probably for the best. He could just curl up and dust right here.

He shook off the impulse, recognizing it for what it was. He wouldn’t be able to teleport, though. Not like this. He needed help.

He shut his sockets and curled his hands. He didn’t want to reach out. Didn’t want to face Asgore’s horror or Blue’s disappointment, didn’t want to see Papyrus’ pitying look, or hear Red and Sans‘ forced jokes, or to see Cash and Twist silently decide they weren’t going to ask or interfere. He didn’t want any of that.

Throat tight, he turned on his phone, and saw the list of missed calls. Seeing Asgore’s nickname made him smile briefly, but it was a sad and bitter smile. He scrolled past and saw that Blue had called several times too. Asgore had probably called him to see if he’d gone crying to his little brother. Slim and Red had texted him as well. Once Blue knew something, odds were, the other skeletons knew too.

But Rus was shocked to see Edge’s name on his list of missed calls. He opened up his voicemail and pressed the phone to his acoustic meatus. Edge’s voice crackled over the line, still tinny and distant. “If you need help, call me. I’ll get you somewhere safe. No questions asked.”

With only a moment of hesitation, Rus called his number. “heya, edgelord, how’re you?” He tried to keep his tone light, but his voice wavered audibly.

Edge’s breath hissed as he gasped. Only then did Rus remember Edge’s phone vision. He shut his sockets, but Edge had obviously already seen the spent magic. “Where are you?” he asked.

“the old house in snowdin. by the machine.”

“Good. Stay where you are—I’ll be there soon.”

He wasn’t exaggerating. Not long after, Edge stepped through the machine, and Rus swallowed hard. He hadn’t seen Edge in years, and seeing him now, like this, was hard. The crack across his socket had grown. It nearly touched his mouth now, and that eyelight was out entirely. A circlet of gold ringed his skull and a rich red robe hung off his shoulders. 

Rus couldn’t help it. When Edge looked down and saw him, he forced a grin and said, shakily, “heh. looks like i got thing for royalty, huh? good to see you, edgelord—or am i supposed to call you ‘your maj—‘“

Edge tore the robe away and draped it over Rus, using it to wrap him in before he hefted Rus up. “Are you injured? Do you need medical attention?” He started up the stairs, his hold firm but gentle.

Rus flinched. “no. i’m…fine.”

Edge took a slow breath. “I won’t ask what happened, but I need you to be honest about your condition.”

“no,” Rus said, focusing on Edge’s hand. “i mean it. i’m fine. really.”

He could feel Edge studying him, but true to his word, Edge didn’t ask. “I brought food. Can you eat?”

They trekked through the snow, and Edge shouldered open the door to Rus’ old house. “yeah,” he said, “i can eat.”

Edge nodded, setting him on the couch and saying, “Stay here.” He turned away and loaded wood into the fireplace, checking the flue before he lit it. After the kindling caught, he pulled a heavy blanket out of his inventory and draped that over Rus as well. “Are you comfortable?”

“yeah.”

“Any pain anywhere?”

He considered that and realized that, no, there really wasn’t. When he said as much, though, Edge raised a skeptical brow-bone. He’d seen the spent magic clotting his clothing. “really. i told you—i’m not hurt.”

Edge still looked suspicious, but he nodded and walked into the kitchen. Rus hunkered down, listening to Edge as he rummaged around. He shut his sockets, allowing himself to pretend that the years between them hadn’t passed, that Edge was simply dropping by for dinner or a date or anything other than the real reason he was here. He couldn’t pretend for long, though. The house smelled empty and disused, and he was uncomfortably aware of the sticky magic coagulating on his bones.

Edge returned with a sad looking bowl of soup. He knelt down. “I’m sorry,” he said, “It’s canned. I didn’t have time for proper soup, but it will restore your magic just as well.”

“geeze, edgelord, you mean you didn’t have time to make it from scratch? tch. i could have heated up a can of soup.” He said it teasingly, grasping at humor to make the whole situation easier to stomach. “why’d i even call you here?”

“Because we both know you would have eaten it cold out of the can like an uncivilized brute if I wasn’t here to warm it up for you.”

Rus snorted. Well. He wasn’t wrong.

The soup went down easily enough, but it lacked the punch of magic Edge’s food always packed. “thanks,” he said, when he was finished.

He set the bowl aside and Edge asked, “Do you want to get cleaned up? There was…a lot of spent magic.”

Rus nodded slowly. “yeah.” He started to stand, but Edge pushed him back down.

“Stay here. There’s no running water. Thankfully, the gas was never disconnected, so the stove still works. I’m going to heat some snow, and you can use that to clean up, alright?” Rus nodded, huddling into the blankets as Edge set a pan of snow on the stove and arranged towels in front of the fire. He also pulled an extra set of clothing from his inventory and laid it out. “For you to change into.” When the water was hot enough, Edge set it beside the towels. “Do you need help?” he asked, “Or do you want privacy?”

Rus started shaking. Edge would know. If he stayed, he’d know what had happened ~~and then he’d know just how awful Rus was he’d know that Rus was broken defective couldn’t even bring a soulling to term because he was too hateful and selfish and then edge would leave edge would hate him just like everyone else just like—~~

Warm hands cupped his face, and a single red eyelight stared back at him. “Rus, breathe. Breathe with me, love. In.” He inhaled to demonstrate. “Out. Come on. Breathe with me. In—“ Rus’ breathing hitched and stuttered, but he inhaled when Edge inhaled, and exhaled when told to. “Out.” Slowly, his breathing evened out, though tears were once again slipping down his cheekbones.

He was so tired of crying.

Edge brushed them away. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He pulled Rus to his feet and brought him over to the fireplace. Rus fiddled with the bottom of his hoodie. “I can turn around, if you want. But I want to stay close in case you get dizzy.”

Rus shook his head. “no. stay. it’s-it’s nothing you haven’t seen before anyway, right?” With shaking hands, he pulled off the hoodie, bracing himself for the horror and accusations. Might as well get it over with now, right?

But Edge didn’t say anything. His sockets went wide—he’d seen Rus’ abdominal cavity, he understood now where the magic had come from, but true to his word he didn’t ask any questions. He just took a soft cloth in hand and dipped it into the warm water, using it to rub the spent magic from his bones. “Tell me if the water starts to cool.”

Rus hugged him, too overcome to control himself. Edge’s hands closed over the back of his skull and spine, rubbing his lumbar vertebrae soothingly. “It’s okay, love. Everything is going to be okay. I’ve got you. It’s okay.” Warm projections–/ Stability / Control / Safety / Security /–washed over him, trying to comfort him.

Burying his face in Edge’s shoulder, Rus shook his head, trembling. It didn’t feel okay. Not yet. But a part of him knew that Edge would never lie to him, and he clung to that knowledge just as tightly as he clung to Edge. 

Slowly, they pulled away, and Edge cleaned him with careful hands. Neither of them said anything while he worked, though Rus repeatedly had to wipe the tears from his sockets. He didn’t ask what happened, but when Rus was finally clean and clothed and they were both huddled in front of the fire, Rus told him. Everything.

Edge listened without interruption. He squeezed Rus’ shoulders, and at some points he had to take a deep breath, but he didn’t say anything. Finally, Rus came to the end. Staring deep into the fire, watching the flames dance, he said, “i couldn’t do it. couldn’t carry them. i thought—“ He took a deep breath. “—i told myself i could. told myself i could want this. but i can’t.” He rubbed a palm across his sockets, pushing the tears away. “too selfish, i guess.”

“You’re not selfish.” It was the first thing he’d said since Rus started his story. “If anything, you give too much.”

Rus snorted. “yeah. ‘m so generous. can’t even bring a kid to term.”

“Rus…how do you feel? Right now. Be honest.”

Rus exhaled hard. “relieved. and guilty. and…worried. about everyone else. how they’ll react.” He tucked his chin. “what they’ll think of me.”

Edge nodded and pulled him closer. “Everyone will understand. You said it yourself; you never really wanted a child. This is for the best. It would only have gotten harder after they were born.” He shook his head. “It wouldn’t have been fair to you, and it wouldn’t have been fair to the child either. You deserve to be happy, lo—Rus. That’s not selfish.”

Rus snorted. “yeah? so you’re happy living in underfell while the rest of us live up on the surface, getting married and going to college and—“ He laughed bitterly. “—and having kids?”

Edge sighed, but he didn’t pull away. “I’m all they have, and they’re not ready for the surface, yet.”

“and how long are you going to give them, huh? how long before you take your own advice and let yourself be happy?”

Edge was quiet for a long time, and Rus cursed himself. Edge was pulling away—mentally, if not physically. “You need a safe place to rest and recover. Is there someone you can stay with? Or are you going to call your boyfriend?”

Rus flinched, thinking of Asgore. “he deserves better than me.”

Edge scoffed. “He’s lucky to have you, and I won’t hear anything else on the matter.”

“…can you stay?” he asked. “just for tonight.”

“There’s no running water. No power. You really want to sleep here?”

“there’s a fire. blankets.”  _You_. “and…i’m not ready to go back yet.”

Edge considered that. “Call your boyfriend. Tell him you’re safe. After that, if you want to stay, then we can stay here.”

Rus shut his sockets and burrowed into Edge’s side. “thanks, edgelord. for coming. for listening.”

He scratched along Rus coronal suture. “Always.”

-

They made it back to the surface the next morning, and they stopped at a human coffee shop for breakfast. Well. Breakfast for Rus. Edge sneered at the pre-packaged pastries and ordered plain black coffee. Rus got a rather sad looking croissant and a latte with more caramel in it than was entirely necessary.

It was caffeinated, though, and full of real sugar. And no one looked at him strangely when he ordered—and, as they walked, he pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. Edge eyed them. “You’re not going to take this opportunity to quit, then?” he asked.

“nope.”

The smoke curled in his chest cavity, burning pleasantly. For a moment, he got a little lightheaded, and he coughed as he exhaled. It tasted good with the oversweet latte, though, and the cool morning air was pleasant on his face.

As they got closer and closer to the house he shared with Asgore, dread curled in his abdominal cavity. He reached out and took Edge’s hand, holding tight. Edge paused, hesitating. Then, with a sigh, he shook his hand free and draped it over Rus’ shoulders instead. Somehow, it felt less intimate. “You don’t need to do this now.”

He did, though. “he’s my boyfriend. and…i love him.”

Edge didn’t pull away, but his nod was stiff and formal. “I know.”

“…it was his kid. or, it would have been. i owe him an explanation. i…i need to talk to him.”

“Yes.” They walked in silence for a few moments. “He never…he didn’t force you, did he?”

Rus should have been horrified, but he laughed instead. “king fluffybuns? force me? never. he’s…he’s not like that.”

The tension went out of Edge’s bones, and replaying his reactions, Rus realized he’d been worrying over that one for a while now. “Good.” They reached Rus’ street, and the end of his cigarette. He lit another, lingering on the street corner. “Do you want me to come inside with you?”

Rus snorted. “yeah. cause having my ex-boyfriend around to help me tell my current boyfriend that i didn’t want his kid bad enough to carry it to term won’t be awkward at all.”

Edge winced. “Please tell me you aren’t going to break the news like that.”

“What news?” Both of them froze at the cheery voice behind them. “Papy? Are you—you can’t smoke! You’re pregnant!” Blue sounded aghast. “Edge—why would you let him…? Wait.” Rus’ skull dropped and he stared at his feet, cigarette burning his fingers. Edge shifted at his side, and Blue walked around to face him. “Papy…?”

Rus took a breath, not able or willing to face Blue just yet. “Why don’t we take a walk, pipsqueak?” Edge said, putting a hand on Blue’s shoulder.

“…Papy? Papy, what happened? Are you okay? Is the baby—?”

Rus took a shuddering breath, still staring at the ground. “i gotta talk to asgore. why don’t you go with edge, huh, little bro?”

Edge squeezed his shoulder, then he led Blue away. Alone again, Rus took a deep breath and finished the walk toward his house. He hesitated on the doorstep, not sure if he should knock or just walk in.

The door creaked open, and Asgore peered out at him. “Rus? I…I saw you through the window.”

He forced a smile. “heya, big guy.” He looked away, rubbing his arm.

The door widened. “You didn’t come in.”

“i….”

Asgore reached out. “Rus…I’m sorry. I didn’t…I didn’t mean to upset you. Please…come home?”

He looked up at Asgore. He looked nervous—hopeful, but hesitant. And worried. He looked Rus over, and his brows furrowed. “What happened to your clothes?”

Rus flinched and raised a shaking hand, fingers tightening around the back of his neck. “i don’t…i don’t even know where to start.” The miscarriage? The pregnancy itself? Edge? There was so much to untangle, and he could only see this ending in tears.

Asgore reached out and took his hand. “You can talk to me. You can always talk to me. I love you, honey. No matter what.”

Rus let out a slow, shuddering breath. “i love you too,” he said, sockets brimming with tears. “i’m sorry. for running. and….”

Asgore ushered him inside. “Come inside. Sit down. I’ll make tea.”

The door shut behind him, and Rus shook his head, catching Asgore by the forearm. “no.  _you_  sit down. i’ll make tea.” Their gazes met and held. “i have something to tell you.” He flinched, looking away. “i have…a lot…to tell you.”

Asgore swept him up, burying his face in his neck. “I’m just glad you’re home safely—“ He noticed the lack of an ectobody, and he pulled back. “Oh! Oh— _Rus_! Oh, love—I’m—“ He wrapped his arms around him, even tighter. “I’m so sorry,” he said, “Are you okay? Do you need—do you need a doctor? What happened?”

Rus buried his face in Asgore’s chest. “i’m okay. i’m…i’m good, actually.” He sighed. “better than i have been. in. in a long time.”

Asgore pulled back to look at him. “Rus?”

Rus sighed. “sit down. we…we need to talk.” Looking uncertain, Asgore allowed him to lead him to the couch. He sat down, and Rus stood in front of him, rocking on his toes. Asgore stared up at him, searching for answers. Rus swallowed hard and reached out, clasping one of Asgore’s horns. He leaned into the touch, and Rus’ soul clenched. “i’m sorry,” he finally said. “i…i couldn’t carry it. the soulling.”

Asgore’s hands settled around his waist. “Was it the shortcut? Is…Is that why you didn’t come home? You thought I’d be upset with you? It was an accident, darling. And…these things happen—it was very early, still. It’s not uncommon, and it’s not your fault. We can try again—“

“no!” Rus’ whole body revolted at the very suggestion. Asgore jumped, eyes wide, and Rus flinched, pulling away from him. “no…you don’t…you don’t understand. i…i didn’t want it.”

Asgore sat up straight. “What?” He sounded so hurt, so broken. Betrayed.

“i.” He swallowed. “i wanted to make you happy. and you wanted this so badly.” He smiled sadly. “you…you were a great dad. you’ll be a great dad again…but i’m…not. not made for parenthood.”

“Rus, what are you—? You’d be a good father! You’re smart and funny and-and sweet! Any child would be lucky to—“

“no.” He shook his head, taking Asgore’s hands in his. “listen. i don’t want children. i don’t want to be pregnant. i don’t want to adopt. i don’t want this.”

“Maybe…maybe not right now. But—“

He tightened his grip on Asgore’s hands. “no. asgore. i don’t want kids. not now and…probably not ever. if that’s what you want, if that’s what you need to be happy—and you deserve to be happy, love; you deserve anything and everything you want. but…i can’t be the one to give you that.”

“Rus? Are you…are you breaking up with me?”

Rus’ sockets closed, and he smiled sadly, trying to force the tears back. He’d shed enough tears already. “no. yes. i don’t know. i love you. i don’t want this to be the end. but…i can’t be that for you. and it wouldn’t be fair. keeping you. knowing we don’t want the same things.”

Asgore squeezed his hands, looking at the floor. He wasn’t crying, but it was a near thing. “I…I still love you.”

“i love you too. i always will.”

But it wasn’t enough, and both of them knew it.

“You’re really okay?” Asgore asked, looking him over. “Are you in any pain? Do you need to go to the doctor?”

“no, really, i’m…i’m good.”

He searched Rus’ face. “You don’t…you really don’t miss them at all?”

Rus mouth went dry. He ran a hand over Asgore’s cheek. He shook his head slowly.

Something in Asgore’s face crumpled, and he covered his eyes with one huge hand. His whole body shook as he held back sobs. Rus shifted, helpless as Asgore broke down in front of him. Cautiously, he put a hand on his shoulder, moving to hold him, to offer what comfort he could. But Asgore pulled away. “I think. I think I would like to be alone right now.”

It hurt. Guilt surged, but he nodded. “yeah. of course. i’ll…i’ll see you.”

Outside, he leaned against the door and slipped down to the ground. The position was familiar, and he lifted one hand, touching his knuckles to the door. He didn’t knock, though. Now was not the time for jokes.

A small body settled beside him. Blue. He leaned into his brother’s side, and Rus threw an arm over his shoulder. “Papy, why didn’t you tell me? Why weren’t you honest with me? I would have—“ He squeezed his little brother’s shoulders, the words cutting like knives. Blue fell silent and snuggled into him. “I’m sorry.”

“yeah. me too.”

“…do you need someplace to stay?”

He’d sworn he was done with them, but more tears gathered in his sockets. He took a breath and wiped them away. “yeah. think i do. for a few days at least.”

“You can stay with me.” He smiled tentatively. “It’ll be like old times again, right?”

“yeah. right.”

Blue shifted and a piece of paper was pushed into his hand. “Edge said this was for you.”

“he left?”

Blue shrugged. “He’s the king; he has a whole kingdom to look after.” He fidgeted. “And…he said you needed space.” His fingers tightened on the slip of paper. Of course Edge would leave. He was a mess right now, and Edge didn’t need him dragging him down too. “Papy.” He looked over at Blue. “He still loves you. He won’t say it because he doesn’t want you to think you owe him anything, but I can tell. He’s not abandoning you; he’s giving you time to heal.”

Rus swallowed. “yeah.” The conversation with Asgore had left him raw, and it felt like there was a hollow spot in his soul. Like he was missing a piece of himself, but he didn’t know which piece. He opened the slip of paper and read the message inside.

_You deserve to be happy._

The words felt like a lie, especially without Edge’s embrace or Asgore’s gentle touch to reinforce them. He was tempted to let the slip fly free of his grip and tumble into the wind. Instead, he stuffed it into a pocket for later consideration.

Maybe if he re-read it enough times, he’d start to believe it.


End file.
